Dry the Rain
by Evil Bunny1
Summary: There is a purpose to life, a sometimes unseen goal, one could say a predestined fate. There is an unintentional wish made on a newly completed jewel, but will Kagome get her second chance?
1. Prologue

**Dry the Rain **

Prologue; _In where many important and potentially depressing things happen._

_Umarete wa_

_Shinuru hazu nari_

_Sore naraba..._

_Kisei_

_(Since I was born_

_I have to die, _

_And so...)_

She lay on the ground. Remaining where she had fallen, for her body seemed to think it not wise to move. The sky was appropriately morose if she could say so, but as it was, she hadn't attempted to speak yet. After all the commotion, the screams, the taste of imminent destruction; it was quiet, and still. Her chest was heavy, and the air felt liquid as she sucked it eagerly past parched lips. Sticky clothes clung to her breast, vaguely she wondered if it would rain.

The pain was radiating, all encompassing. She could not mentally isolate any one part that did not burn at her angrily. Her body was at mutiny with her heart, which desired to rise and wander the bloody ground, littered with the bodies of her friends.

A chocked sputtering sob rushed past her stoic guard, and she turned her head to the side, facing the tree, the one that had been intimately introduced to her back not too long ago. The splattered bark appeared a deep maroon in the dying light. She reached for it, reached for it as a person would to shake hands with a new acquaintance. _'Hello tree. How do you do? _ Her bottom lip trembled slightly as her fingers made contact with the tacky surface.

He had no idea how long he had been watching her, standing idly. Did she have any idea? Could she have any clue that she wouldn't be alive come morning?

There were tiny patterns, images per say, which had grown with the tree. She traced her fingers over one that looked somewhat like a grossly obese three-legged cat. She would call him 'Tripod'. A winsome smile curled her lips. Is this what she had lived for? Even in all of the pain, even with all of the profound disappointments, what more could she ask for? She had seen so much, lived so wonderfully. In her time, some would go in search of excitements, excitements like the ones that found her every day. Even with injury, the sorrow, she had been thoroughly loved; by friends, by family, by lovers. She had faced imminent death so many times, how could she be angry now that it had found her? With a sigh and a grin she turned her head up to the non-existing sun. For so long her living had been for the defeat of her foe, hadn't she prayed so many times? Promising anything to some vague omnipresent being, desperate for the destruction of such evil? So many search for a purpose in life...what would she do if she were to outlive it? An accepting laugh tickled its way up her throat, and she set it free.

His face jumped unexpectedly in surprise. She was laughing?

He made his way over to her, limping slightly. Stopping by her side, he watched her stare sightlessly past him as he leaned forward. He had to listen for the beating of her heart to make sure she wasn't already dead. "Miko."

She blinked twice before meeting his gaze. Her grin shocked him. She opened her mouth to speak, but coughed instead. She worked to swallow before trying again. "This has to be the first time anyone has seen you looking anything less than perfect." Her voice was rough with miss-use. The smile she gave him was radiant, and he could not help but look down on himself with an air of distaste in hopes of amusing her.

The harsh laugh was enjoyable, and he turned to where her belongings had landed when they had been hurriedly cast aside. He searched briefly till he found the unusual wet skin he had seen her use. Gingerly he lowered himself to sit near her shoulders and gently lifted her slender form onto his lap. Smirking questioningly at her surprised expression, he lifted the vessel to her lips. "Drink."

Her eyes stayed on his as he forced her to sip from the bottle. He was cradling her like a child, making her feel loved. This was something she had never expected. Granted he had become a tinsey bit warmer towards her and her friends since joining them on their hunt, but never affectionate.

It was definite...she was going to die.

The miko's lids lowered, and he could sense her change in mood. She turned her face from the bottle he held, and buried her face against his chest. He tensed for a moment, unused to the contact, before relaxing. Hearing her ragged breathing brought an unwelcome ache to his heart, unlike anything he had felt for years. His arms moved on their own accord, curling around her and pulling her close. This thing...this human, the very being he had once pronounced beneath him, was making him tremble with some unfounded emotion. He clung to her for some time, until it occurred to him...he was going to miss her.

Her eyes were cloudy, misted with the salty saline once called tears. He was holding her. His arms were tightly wrapped around her, and there was a slight quake to him that bespoke of things never to be voiced. Her heart burned at this new found discovery, and she cursed the gods that had written this. 'Why now?' Couldn't she have died before learning this?

Lifting her head she forced a smile. "What's this?" She questioned in a still unsteady voice. "This Sesshoumaru is bestowing affection upon a pitiful human?" Her hand reached up to touch his still face, only shaking a bit.

Dipping his head to hasten the contact that he now seemed to need, he spoke; "Never let anyone make you think you are pitiful." It was said in a low voice, almost unheard.

Kagome's eyes closed sharply. Her face once again nuzzling against his shoulder. "I wish..." she whispered just as low; "I wish...I could have gotten to know you better. I wish I could have gotten to know you all better. You know, without the all pervading evil and rampant destruction." Her eyes were brimming with moisture when she lifted them. "I always thought that you were beautiful."

His brows shot up as he looked down at her, and a slight smile curved those stiff lips that were so unused to the movement. His clawed fingers moved to brush clinging hair off of her damp face, before he nodded in accordance. Her soft laugh lifting his heavy heart, just a tad.

"Do you look like your father?" Her question seemed so inconsequential, and he tilted his head a bit in confusion. "You and Inuyasha have some similar characteristics; they come from your father?" She clarified.

He nodded. "Yes. Many say I look very much like my father."

She sighed, and blinked slowly. "My mother says that I look like my father." Her voice was soft, and slightly sad.

"You don't know?" He wondered a loud.

Her head rolled back and forth across his arm. "No. I don't remember my father. My mother has pictures, but she mostly keeps them put away." Her eyes met his as they looked almost questioningly down on her. "He died, and I was very young."

He nodded slowly, in understanding. His fingers danced lightly over her wounds, wondering vaguely just how bad they were. "You had your grandfather, did you not?"

Her smile once again bloomed across her face. "Yeah. Strange old coot, wish I would have listened to him more. But you never can know can you?"

His gaze once again met hers. "One can never know what?"

"When you're going to die."

His stoic façade faltered for a moment, proving that there was maybe some warmth beneath all that ice. His arms tightened around her for a moment, as if the movement could somehow keep her in this world.

"Will you do me a favor?" She asked softly.

"What?" His voice seemed to bark out at her, and he winced at the volume and tone of it.

She merely smiled. "The little girl you keep? The one you brought back?"

"What of her?" His tone was considerably softer than before, the confusion at her line of questioning evident in his face.

She blinked up at him, for a moment afraid at the reaction to be had at her demand. "Tell her you love her, even if you don't." His eyes widened. "I can't seem to remember my father telling me he loved me, though I'm sure he did." She paused, seeming to consider the stiffness of his body. "And if you can't tell her that, even if you have to lie, find someone who can."

His head lowered, silvery hair blanketing her briefly. "I can do this."

Kagome's blood caked hand met his jaw. "Good." She frowned a bit at the rusty residue that was left behind. "You do love her don't you?" It was said as a question, but in a convinced manner, as if anything he could say wouldn't dissuade her.

His gaze lowered, fixing on the mottled and bruised throat, which convulsed slightly with a chuckle. "It's okay." She whispered. "I won't tell anyone." His lips quirked reluctantly at the ironic phrase, before looking her in the eye again. She smiled serenely up at him. "I wish..."

It took him a moment to realize that she wasn't going to finish the thought. "What do you wish?"

Her head shook to and fro again. "No. No, its pointless now."

He ran one clawed finger over her cheek bone, brining her attention back to him. "I would like to know."

She seemed to consider this, before relenting, and taking a deep shuddering breath. "I'd like another go."

One idyllic brow arched in question. "'Another go'?" He asked.

"Yes. Another chance, to start all over. A chance to have a whole new, fresh, beginning. To meet them all again. It seems there was so much fighting, and so little understanding. I'd spend more time with my brother, pay more attention to the person he would become." Her unblinking gaze watched as his eyes darted over the curled bloody figure across the way. Undoubtedly taking in the familiar silvery hair and red garb. "And I'd wish you could have known him."

His surprised eyes came clashingly back to the girl in his arms. "Why?" He wondered allowed. For once letting his face show his confusion, his brows drew together as he pondered her.

She sighed, as if gearing up to explain it to him. "You will live a very long time. And one day you will think of him. You can't tell me that there is no chance, none at all, that you may regret not knowing your brother."

Something inside him, purely on principal, wanted to deny it. Some little part wanted to growl and curse the humanity that tainted his sibling's blood. But he didn't. As unsure as he was about his future, he could not squash the tiny niggling spirit of guilt. He had been so cruel, so harsh to the one who was more like him than anything else ever would be. But he wouldn't tell her that. As annoying as the guilt was, his pride was stronger. Instead he lowered his head, again enshrouding her in that silvery curtain. His hands moved to comfort the spasm-ing body in his arms. Her eyes shut tightly trying to close out the pain of her constricting lungs.

When her body finally calmed, she breathed a tired sigh, let rust stained fingers curl in his hair. "Maybe one day," she whispered. "Just maybe. I wonder how I would be reborn...when, and what I would look like."

There was a rustling not too far to his left. Being who he was, he didn't even need to turn his head to identify the intruder. He merely gazed down at Kagome as she watched the slight ragged little girl pick her way hurriedly across the clearing.

Rin stopped a few feet away, as if halted by some unheard, unseen command. Her lip quivered, but she did not cry.

Her stormy blue eyes watched the girl bravely hold her own as she stood on the discarded battle ground. So strong. Turning her head once again into her savior's shoulder, she sniffled a bit, trying hard to follow Rin's example. "You make a wonderful father." She said in a lowered secretive tone.

"You think so?" He asked just as quietly, sounding genuinely curious.

She turned dry eyes up to him. "Yeah. Who would have thought it, huh?"

The girl in his arms gave a slight chuckle, only sounding vaguely amused. Suddenly her slender fingers curled tightly into the silk he wore.

"I regret very little." This was said with much finality and a hint of desperation.

"It is impossible for one to die with none." He assured her. His mind screamed at him, one so young should have many more, one so young should not be faced with such trials. One such as she should not be in such a situation, one such as she, being so full of life...even now.

"I've seen so much, met so many. I've been so blessed..." her tone was becoming more and more frantic, as if there was some great cosmic timer, and hers was getting ready to make that really annoying buzzing noise.

"You have also been greatly burdened." He murmured.

"No. Never burdened. Everything I've done, everything I've chosen, has been just that. My choice. I was guided by my own sense of duty, and sometimes misguided pride. But I would never say I was burdened." She gritted her teeth, and harshly sucked in much needed air.

It was silent in the field, the only sound the hitched breathing of the small girl standing not to far away.

"I could save you." His statement was quiet, impetuous. His eyes searched despairingly over the field, trying to locate where he had tossed the sword in anger, after it had refused to bring back the violet eyed monk.

There was a gentle laugh. And he felt her fingers, cold and dry, against his face. "No. I think I've overstayed my welcome as it is. Thank you."

"What have I done to warrant such gratitude?" He puzzled.

Again, her soft-hearted smile gave him pause. "You stayed with me. You didn't tell me I would be okay, for offering." She nudged a knuckle weakly against his chest. "Tensaiga is behind you, by the way."

"Ah." He spared a quick glance over his shoulder to see the blade resting haphazardly against a tree. "Thank you."

"Welcome."

The ever present smile wavered slightly, and her hand reached up to smooth an errant strand of perfect hair, but never quiet made it. He caught her wrist as it began to fall, and brought it to his cheek, eyes never leaving the face of the one he held. Even after she had drawn her final breath.

His jaw clenched. And the only sound that would be heard was the quiet muffled sobbing of Rin, as she lost the battle with her tears.

I've always hated touching and emotionally draining final words. Maybe you noticed.

It's slightly depressing, and just gearing up. I have so many ideas for this one, and no way of culling any of them. So this is going to prove to test my creative determination. Help with typos...normally I don't take the time to check spelling on character names and such. I hope you liked it. I'm sure I'll go on, even if no one reviews...but getting some feedback always makes my day. So click that little button and give me your words...


	2. A Short Night

Dry the Rain

Chapter One; _which contains just as depressing contents as the previous installment._

_Mijikayo ya_

_Ware ni wa nagaki_

_Yume samenu._

_--Yayu_

_(A short night_

_Wakes me from a dream_

_That seemed so long)_

At 1:56:41 p.m. Souta turned 17. His watch beeped happily up at him, alerting all to this fact. He heaved a sigh of the aged and much aggrieved, before thumping his shaggy head against the comforting bark of the giant god tree. He had abandoned two of his friends in the family room, last he had seen; they had been gleefully slaughtering the undead in one of his new video games, courtesy of his mother.

A warm breeze ruffled his dark, already messy hair. He didn't give it to much thought. Idly he patted his shirt pocket, where part of his gift from his grandfather resided. It was a gift certificate from one of the local barber shops; could grandpa be trying to tell him something? Chuckling softly he rose and began making his way towards the house. The wind kicked up once more, pushing long hair into his face, and he stumbled gracefully.

"Ahtq! Damnit!" He cursed.

There was a sudden banging, the all too familiar and sought after sound of the old wooden sliding door bouncing off the building. Even though he knew better, even though his head cursed him sharp and loud, his anxious heart made him turn; and expectant eyes sought the familiar form of the girl that had ceased to return many years ago.

Unwarranted, the curses sounding in his head fought their way free of his tight throat. He viciously kicked an unsuspecting rock that had been lying peaceably at his feet. No need to mention that this very rock had so maliciously tripped him.

His head dropped, unseeing eyes darting over uneven ground. How long would it take? How long should he let his heart expect her? She had always made a point to not be gone longer than a month, a point not to cause them unheeded worry. Was she just unable to return? Or had something more sinister happened? No, no she was alive, and happy. She was living somewhere with Inuyasha, and they would have a half a dozen part demon babies running around. They would have Kagome's eyes, and Inuyasha's ears.

Running a tired hand over his face, he let his knees go weak, and dropped down onto the ground. How long had he been cultivating this image? This desperate dream of his sister and his childhood hero, it had been tenderly feed for years. Why would it still not grow? Deep down, somewhere, he knew. He had reasoned that even if she _had_ lived though the final battle, he would never get to see her again.

When was the last time he had seen her? He hated the fact that it was unclear, hated that that instant was somehow jumbled and mixed in with all the other times she had come back home. It wasn't fair that his mind failed him in this instance, that it denied him the knowledge that, for some reason or another he, he desired among all else. He could call up hundreds of other memories he would sacrifice in the place of this one fleeting golden one. How much money he would pay to call up the image of her the last time she had come through those doors. What had she been wearing? Had she been hurt? Was she smiling? Of course she had been smiling; she always smiled, even if it was only for the benefit of others.

He suddenly jumped to his feet. How could he be denied this? How could the gods keep his sister's fate a mystery? It was unacceptable! With determined steps he made his way to the old well house.

"Souta?!"

He stopped abruptly, desperately trying to chase away the immediate and all encompassing feeling of guilt. He wasn't doing anything wrong...

"Uh, yeah mom?" he turned to the door to see her standing there, dishtowel in her hands. Such busy, compulsive hands. Always doing something. With profound disappointment he turned his feet from his destination and made his way towards her. Eyes so much like his own, cast a frenzied worried gaze over him, before her lips formed a false smile.

"Is everything alright? You've been out here awhile." Her fingers reached up to push some wayward strands out of his eyes.

They stood in silence for a while; his mother could almost hear the frenzied whirl of his mind trying to crank out an explanation. "Yeah, I was just...I was...I don't know what I was doing." He finished lamely.

A gentle understanding smile crept over her face, it was almost as if she was saying _'it's alright dear, I've done it too.'_ She nodded slowly, her eyes only flitted briefly to the decrepit building that was made to serve as the final resting place of her only daughter and first born. "If you don't hurry, I think your friends are going to beat your game."

Souta snorted in blatant dismissal. "I don't think so. I hid the player's guide under the couch, they only way those amateurs could beat it is by cheating."

His mother's serious look bespoke of one who didn't even try to understand the complex world of video gaming. "Well, shouldn't you go in and show them how it's done?" Stepping to the side in silent command to go in the house she smiled again, a real one this time and motioned for her son pass.

He studied her resolutely, before shaking off the bittersweet longing to turn and jump into the well that had time and time again refused him. One curt nod was given before he stepped hurriedly past her and made his way into the living room.

"Oi, guys. Didn't you say something about meeting some guys at that new place down town?" He asked with false bravado.

"Oh yeah!" Squeaked Shinji. "I heard the food is great too!"

"Whoa. Calm down man." Sighed Ryoji. "It's pizza, not ambrosia."

Shinji pinned his friend with a sharp look. "And have you ever _tasted _ambrosia?"

Ryoji sighed again, this time the deep pulled taffy type sigh of the much bereaved. "No. Can't say that I have."

"Well," huffed Shinji, "how do you know what it doesn't taste like?"

"Umm, doesn't ambrosia taste different to everyone?" Souta asked hesitantly, unsure if he even wanted to get involved in this conversation.

Both boys cocked their heads like confused puppies. "Where did you hear that?" Pondered Ryoji.

"I dunno." Replied Souta with a non-comitial shrug. "Just something that seemed relevant."

Ryoji nodded, satisfied with his friends reasoning. "Food of the gods right? Shouldn't it be always changing? You'd think it would taste like whatever they wanted it to."

Shinji grinned, "Yeah, so who said that the gods don't want a nice slice every so often?"

Ryoji and Souta shook their heads, almost in denial of the much sought after point. Souta jerked his head toward the door, in silent but firm command that they leave. Once again he would try, to be normal, to forget; if even just for a little while.

She watched her son leave. If she had to, if it was necessary, she could imagine how hard Kagome's absence was on him. They had been close, and he had worked so hard to become closer in the last dozen times she had emerged from the past. He would bandage her hurts, and talk to her about nothing. And she, she would stand in the door, feeling a slightly bitter jealousy; without her knowing, her son had gently squeezed her out of her position. With a shake of her head she walked slowly towards the kitchen, her thoughts on the cake she planned to make for Souta. As difficult as the initial thought, the brief painful image of her daughter, it ran fleetingly from her mind. In the very back of her soul, something screamed. It yelled that letting go this soon was cold, uncaring. It thrashed and dug its nails into tender flesh, making her wince and pause. It berated her, it called her a bad mother, and it labeled her as a coward; that repression, and denial was the easy way out.

Feeling the well of tears, and the panic building in her chest, she hurried to her bedroom. Closing the door quickly, she leaned against it; as if the motion could stave off everything. It didn't. Rustling through her underwear drawer, somewhere she knew her father and son would never dare go, she pulled out an amber prescription bottle. Biting her lip, she shook out one, and pausing for a moment, then another pink and tan pill. Placing them on her tongue she swallowed them dry. Easing down to sit on the floor and leaning against her footboard, she listened as the little voice continued to scream at her, railing and hissing its displeasure. Letting her eyes slide shut she willed the medicine to work quickly, for the 100 mg of chemical happiness to chase away the screaming in her ears.

The voice didn't just disappear, it quieted, and its taunts grew less cutting. Strange, she thought, she had never noticed before, but it sounded a lot like Kagome.

It was late. But even in the dark, even at this hour, he could make out the faint line of demarcation. The area where the spackle didn't quite match up to the rest of the ceiling. And if he thought about it really hard, he could remember the absolute dread he had felt when that baseball that he had bee lobbing above his head crashed through the plaster and drywall. The feeling had been so acute, so heart stopping that he had no memory of the ball coming back down to connect with his head. But it had happened; he still had the scar to prove it.

He did remember Kagome's worried shout, how she came rushing in without knocking. He remembered how she had brushed him off and made sure the blood dripping down his face wasn't fatal, before giggling at his plaster-dust bedecked form. It had taken hours for the two of them to patch him up and clean up the mess he had made. Kagome had even dumped the small pieces of drywall into their nearest neighbor's trash, and covered the hole with masking tape, which he had carefully painted as to not be so obvious.

A carefully thought out fall down the steps had explained the gash on his head, and an spill involving his favorite soda had taken care of why the bedspread was in the wash. He could still see the way his mother had shaken her head at his 'clumsiness' and the feeling of Kagome's hand sliding through his hair, and the conspiratorial wink she had given him before she had dashed off to rejoin her friends in the past.

It had worked too. Well, until the next thunderstorm. Then had been rudely awakened by the slowly dripping leek, and turned on the light to find a particularly nasty shade of brown quickly spreading across his ceiling.

Considering the damage done, his mother hadn't been overly angry. He recalled her calmly explaining to him how much easier it would have been to patch the one small hole rather than the huge waterlogged area that resulted. Evidently she had reasoned that making him work to pay for it and losing his room for a few days had been more than enough to convey her message.

He swiped a rough hand over his face, four years was a long time. How could she not leave them some kind of message? How could there not be anything? It wasn't possible, Kagome wouldn't put them though this. The harsh acidic pinch echoed though his sinuses. Again he passed a hand over his face. He had sworn he wouldn't cry until he knew, not one tear unless he was sure.

Swinging his legs to the side he sat up quickly. A mark, something, a message. Kagome would leave them something. He hastily pulled on a pair of pajama pants and slippers. Treading quickly but quietly thought the house he made his way outside.

Hurrying though the front door he rushed into the center of the courtyard and stopped. Cold, confused, and desperate he spun a quick circle, aching eyes landing on everything and nothing all at once. Where? Where?

Slowly he eased his body to the cold stone, and crossed his legs. He shut his eyes, and then he did something he hadn't done for a long time, he prayed.

And there he sat, becoming more frustrated and desperate, but more so, even more cold. A voice in his mind wailed, it lamented the fact that his sister had sucked up any and all of the spiritual powers in the family. How could it be fair? The little voice demanded to know, how cruel it was to leave him empty and wanting.

And then, a sudden gust of wind kicked, raising goose bumps on his flesh, and sending a thrill up his spine. His body strangely humming, he sat up straighter, and the little voice demanded to know. The violent thawping of the well house door came as his resounding answer. The low resounding sound of wood bouncing off wood called to him. It was deep and hollow with age, and seemed to mock him.

"_Here! Here silly boy! Who are you praying too? I'm right here!"_

And so, hoping for it more than anything, he made his way quietly and carefully into the old building, he went to go find his proof hidden amongst the dry old boards at the bottom of the well.

Hi! Has any one been waiting for this? Have you given up hope yet? Yes? Alright then. This is not how I intended for this to end, but what the hell. I'm honestly not sure where this is going anymore, I'm going to have to go back and check my notes... If anyone reads this...gimme some back of the feed. Or feedback...that would be nice too.


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